It’s like time has played the most ruthless wager on me. Pen testing … 1... 2... 3...
Works! Hah. So, words just flow through a pen? It is a medium for thoughts to flow, and not the origin. Where I stand, right now, I wonder why each and every relation in my life seems so distant. There is a sense of disconnection. Like, a certain level of understanding is lost.
There is an emptiness in my life. Ugh. The more number of people I meet, further lonely I feel. Is there anything I can fill my life with?
There is a thought in my mind which I might fervidly want to express at this juncture. But an effort is being taken to forgo, and move on. Nonetheless, the effort is otiose.
Paradoxically, where my strength emerges from, is where I need it the most. Like, my mind exudes so much power that eventually it can’t get a hang of things for a while. It’s grueling.
There are people I love. A lot. I wanna give them my love, and feel good, probably great. The exultation of gifting love, which is so perfect. Impeccable! I don’t know. I don’t know where this write-up is taking me. May be it’s just helping me tune my judgments, which are precisely, extremely harsh on my own self.
Like, an explosion of thoughts, and fragmented images joined together to form the distorted picture of my chaotic life.
Time is not the greatest healer I’ve met. Nonetheless, it remains the greater preacher I know of. I promise to do full justice to it.
This pen doesn’t seem to be the perfect agent of my words. Thoughts are still rambling. I can’t seem to find a flow.
Probably, there is none. Probably, all I need is nothing. There is nothing that is amiss. Yet, this stretching hollow in my heart; it’s like the tunnel that separates me from the rest of the world, where I hear various significant voices reverberate, and tell me something so inspiring, yet so alarmingly inconsequential as opposed to the vast hollow of the tunnel. Worthless, muted and woeful. Like voices are dimmed as I move forward; only to find myself completely absent in the world I have created for myself. Like, I’ve gone adrift; perplexed, I can’t find what I’m looking for. Where am I, I wonder. I’m tangled in my own labyrinth of words. Words, that empower me, only vanquish my faculties to sensate, comprehend and respond. Like, they’ve left me with a feeling that I can’t even dredge up, or achieve all my life. A feeling that leaves me, with nothing but tears that wordlessly flow down my cheeks. Wordless.
Works! Hah. So, words just flow through a pen? It is a medium for thoughts to flow, and not the origin. Where I stand, right now, I wonder why each and every relation in my life seems so distant. There is a sense of disconnection. Like, a certain level of understanding is lost.
There is an emptiness in my life. Ugh. The more number of people I meet, further lonely I feel. Is there anything I can fill my life with?
There is a thought in my mind which I might fervidly want to express at this juncture. But an effort is being taken to forgo, and move on. Nonetheless, the effort is otiose.
Paradoxically, where my strength emerges from, is where I need it the most. Like, my mind exudes so much power that eventually it can’t get a hang of things for a while. It’s grueling.
There are people I love. A lot. I wanna give them my love, and feel good, probably great. The exultation of gifting love, which is so perfect. Impeccable! I don’t know. I don’t know where this write-up is taking me. May be it’s just helping me tune my judgments, which are precisely, extremely harsh on my own self.
Like, an explosion of thoughts, and fragmented images joined together to form the distorted picture of my chaotic life.
Time is not the greatest healer I’ve met. Nonetheless, it remains the greater preacher I know of. I promise to do full justice to it.
This pen doesn’t seem to be the perfect agent of my words. Thoughts are still rambling. I can’t seem to find a flow.
Probably, there is none. Probably, all I need is nothing. There is nothing that is amiss. Yet, this stretching hollow in my heart; it’s like the tunnel that separates me from the rest of the world, where I hear various significant voices reverberate, and tell me something so inspiring, yet so alarmingly inconsequential as opposed to the vast hollow of the tunnel. Worthless, muted and woeful. Like voices are dimmed as I move forward; only to find myself completely absent in the world I have created for myself. Like, I’ve gone adrift; perplexed, I can’t find what I’m looking for. Where am I, I wonder. I’m tangled in my own labyrinth of words. Words, that empower me, only vanquish my faculties to sensate, comprehend and respond. Like, they’ve left me with a feeling that I can’t even dredge up, or achieve all my life. A feeling that leaves me, with nothing but tears that wordlessly flow down my cheeks. Wordless.
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"The more number of people I meet, further lonely I feel. Is there anything I can fill my life with?"
ReplyDeleteSigh!